Common Ground
by Shaddyr
Summary: Written for the DW Snowflake Challenge. McShep, post EatG. Slice of Life. "Food is our common ground, a universal experience - James Beard"


"You sure you want to eat that?"

Rodney sniffed at the plate full of what the cooks had served up as dinner and grimaced. "I thought I was," he muttered with trepidation. "I'm not so certain anymore."

John eyed Rodney's dinner and suppressed a shudder. "It does look pretty nasty," he agreed. He'd been looking forward to trying the new meat they'd secured a trade agreement for, but it just didn't smell right.

Rodney finally took the mouthful and chewed for a moment. The look on his face made John very grateful he'd chosen to pass over the new entree. He'd learned through hard experience not to eat the suspicious smelling new things until there was corroborating testimony from other expedition members that said entree was actually edible. John watched Rodney drop his fork back onto his plate with apparent disgust.

"This is terrible," he announced as he folded his arms across his chest and scowled at the offending meal.

"It doesn't really look all that much different from the beef Stroganoff MRE's you love," John felt compelled to point out. He munched on a yellow not-carrot stick as Rodney continued to glare at his dinner, as if by willpower alone he might transform it into something edible. Or possibly, make it spontaneously combust by the power of his mind.

"Believe me, any resemblance between this glop and beef stroganoff is purely coincidental."

John nodded sagely. "And for this reason, I stick with sandwiches. It's hard to screw up bread, turkey and mayo." He illustrated his point by taking a large bite of his almost-turkey sandwich and chewing happily.

"This is actually amazingly bad," Rodney declared as picked up his fork to poke at the offending meal once more. "I mean, truly stellar levels of awful. I could cook better than this."

John blinked, blindsided by the sudden image of Rodney in an apron and chef's hat screaming at the kitchen staff. He cocked his head to one side "The thought of you in the kitchen is… well, disturbing to say the least."

Rodney huffed. "Oh, please, I've done my share of cooking. I had to learn when I went to school out of sheer self-preservation. -"

"You gonna eat that?" Ronon cut him off, dropping down in the seat beside McKay and grabbing the plate from in front of him before he could answer. John and Rodney both stared as Ronon began to wolf down the mess on the plate with obvious relish.

"Apparently whether I was or not is irrelevant," McKay muttered as he left the table to go and get a sandwich of his own.

John cocked an eyebrow at Ronon. "So, uhm… you like that, then?" he asked, giving the other man a dubious look.

"S'okay," Ronon mumbled around a mouthful of the slop. He chewed for a while and swallowed then looked at John seriously. "Broga's better if you bury the whole carcass in a fire pit and let it sit for a day. Gotta fill it with neesa fruit and spices to get rid of the gamey taste, then cover it with flat stones and build a fire on top. Do it early morning, when it's still dark and it'll be ready by evening. A whole village can eat for days after." He scooped up another forkful and grinned at Sheppard. "This is tough, but I haven't had broga in years." He crammed the slop in his mouth and let out a pleased sound.

Rodney came back to the table, sandwich in hand and slid back into his seat. "I can't believe you're eating that," he said as he unwrapped his sandwich.

"According to Ronon, it's not cooked properly," John told him. "It needs to stuffed with fruit and buried in the ground and then set on fire. Maybe he can give the cooks his recipe."

"Oohhhh, that makes sense, actually," Rodney nodded and turned to Ronon. "Really acidic fruit? Sharp?"

Ronon nodded. "Tastes kinda like pineapple."

"That actually sounds like it would be really tasty," Rodney mused as he bit into his own sandwich.

John scrunched up his face. "I dunno. Sounds like a massive breeding ground for bacteria."

Rodney shook his head. "Mm, no," he said as he swallowed his bite. "You have to let some kinds of meat age. Like beef, a good cut might be aged 28 days."

Ronon looked up from his meal. "Broga would rot if you left it that long."

"Well normally you age meat in a cold fridge," he said, rolling his eyes. "But, I'm thinking this is more like pork, and probably doesn't need as long." Rodney said before turning back to John. "Think pig roast. Sitting overnight, stuffed with acidic fruit probably makes the meat incredibly tender." His expression grew speculative. "I wonder if we could convince them to part with one of the smaller animals? We could take it to the mainland and roast it. Like a quality check, you know, for the good of the expedition."

John snorted at that. "Right, McKay. A team luau for the good of Atlantis." He stopped for a second and thought about it, then perked up at the thought. "Man, I could go for a luau," he said, memories of lomi salmon, roast pig and Mai Tais by the beach teasing him. He found himself wondering if they could make the Pegasus version of poi out of tormac.

"Well, that's great then!" Rodney enthused. "We'll just tell the cook we need-"

"Hold on there, buddy," John cut in, waving a hand at him. "How about I'll ask Woolsey about trying this out before you start commandeering chunks of the expedition's foodstuff, ok?"

He let out a chuckle at Rodney's crestfallen expression. He really was going to talk to Woolsey about trying it out – they'd been working hard to repair relationships with their trading partners since coming back to Pegasus. One of the recent trades they'd made was for 500 lbs of brogan, and if they didn't find a better way of preparing it, he wasn't going to be eating an ounce. And he'd be damned if everyone on Atlantis couldn't use a luau. They deserved a party after what they'd gone through to get home.

Ooo

Ooooo

ooo

John relaxed back in his chair, a cup of ruus wine in his hands, and enjoyed the feeling of being well fed and in good company.

Woolsey had proved to be surprisingly amenable to the idea of a luau / broga roast. He'd taken the initiative of asking Teyla if she could speak with Halling about making it into an Atlantis and Athosian community event on the Athosian homeworld. The Athosians proved to be excited by the idea, and the entire village participated in digging a roasting pit and preparing a feast to accompany the broga. Ronon spent several hours with the cooks, explaining how to stuff the carcass and prepping the animal for roasting, before they finally dropped it in the pit. The Athosians had the fire going well before dawn the next morning.

It had turned into a wonderful, all-day event as groups of Atlanteans came over. There were impromptu games - "Seriously, Sheppard, you're trying to teach them how to play touch football again? You never give up." - and storytelling - "If you try to retell one more horror movie as a scary story, I think the Athosians are going to ban you from future visits." - and many other forms of entertainment all day long. And when the food was finally ready, it was a feast of epic proportions and felt like it would never end. John wasn't sure when he'd last felt so full.

Rodney meandered towards him, plate in hand, gnawing on a meat-covered bone.

"Jeeze, Rodney," John laughed, shaking his head. "Where the hell are you putting it all? If I eat any more, I'll explode."

"I'm pacing myself," Rodney said as he settled in the chair beside him. "I can't let Ronon beat me!"

"Hate to break it to you, Buddy, but Ronon is going to beat everyone here." John glanced over to where Ronon was sitting at a table with several young Athosians, laughing and plowing through mountains of food. "You're asking for a coronary if you even try to keep up."

"God, I know," Rodney said as he dropped the bone on his plate and set it aside before slumping back in his chair. "This is the best food I've had since we came back to Pegasus. I just don't want to stop because it tastes amazing. But ugh," he grimaced, then adjusted his belt. "I may never move again."

"You'll move again," John promised.

Rodney gave him a look. "I could be stuck here forever. I may die right in this spot."

John just smiled and leaned back in his chair, head tilted back to look up at the stars. "I don't think so."

"Yeah?" Rodney challenged. "Why's that?"

"Because I have a tub of Ben and Jerry's back in my mini fridge."

"Oh, you…"

"Chocolate Fudge Brownie."

"Mother. Fucker," Rodney swore quietly, but intensely, under his breath.

"Now, Rodney, is that anyway to talk to the man who is going to ply you with chocolate ice cream when we get back to Atlantis?"

"You're going to be the death of me," he groaned as he made to lever himself out of the chair. John leaned over and set a hand on his arm."

"Maybe a nap first, hmm?"

Rodney gave him a look that would reduce any of his scientists to screaming fits. John just yawned. "Just… digest a bit." He let his hand fall from Rodney's arm to settle on his thigh, thumb drawing little circles over the smooth muscle. "It'll be worth your while."

After a moment more, Rodney conceded, settling back into the chair, his hand coming to settle over John's.. "I hate you," he mumbled as his eyes drifted shut.

John set his wine down, then laced his fingers with Rodney's as he let his eyes close as well. "Me too."


End file.
